


Broken Yet Whole

by cat_77



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-31
Updated: 2012-12-31
Packaged: 2017-11-23 02:17:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/616970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cat_77/pseuds/cat_77
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes you need to fix the external before the internal can begin to heal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken Yet Whole

**Author's Note:**

> For the "comfort food/item" square at hc_bingo. Spoilers for the end of Series 4.
> 
> * * *

It took quite some time to clean up the mess Morgana had made of the castle proper. The surrounding villages had bounced back soon enough, which was either a testament to their tenacity or to the sheer number of times such things had occurred in recent history, but the castle itself was in dire need for repair. When Arthur looked to the stains of blood seeped deep into the stone of the throne room floor, or dared to glance over to Gwaine in time to see the haunted look in his eyes before the knight covered it with false cheer, he knew it would be a long while before anyone truly put the attack behind them, and that likely no one would ever forget those horrible days.

For now though, he needed to focus on the external repairs before he could address those of a more personal nature. Perhaps if the castle appeared right and proper and whole again, it would go a long way towards helping his people deal with the more internal turmoil that he could only guess at. Camelot was a beacon of light and, until it actually appeared as such once again, it was going to be damned hard to rely on it to rally his people.

To that end, he needed stonecutters and bricksmen to repair the walls, serving boys to take down Morgana’s garish standards and laundresses to clean and repair his own to be hung in their place, and even the smallest of the scullery maids to seek out the hidden corners now riddled with filth and hopefully play a hand in scrubbing them clean. He thought that if he could keep his people busy, if he could let them all actively mend the things they could see to be broken, perhaps it would help with those unseen as well.

Of course to do that he needed his wayward servant. Merlin was surprisingly good at making lists and breaking them down fairly, tallying the little things that Arthur himself would either brush aside or never even think of at all, and getting people to listen enough and to feel involved enough that they actively wanted to help, which is something he desperately needed now if the castle was to be sound enough to protect everyone against the eventual winter, let alone the doubtless attacks that awaited them from lesser kings and warlords, hopeful to take the citadel whilst its defences were down.

He had last seen Merlin fussing over Gaius. The old man looked far from well, and he had heard reports from both Elyan and Gwaine regarding his mistreatment. Merlin had promised to both see to him and, when Gaius mumbled something Arthur himself could not quite make out, to set his rooms to right as well. Hopefully either the tasks were complete or, if not, far enough along their paths so as to be overseen by someone else at this time.

Arthur walked into the physician’s chambers and was honestly a bit surprised by the damage he saw. There were piles of glass already swept to the side, a glittering of colour that he knew were once Gaius’ priceless remedies. Books and scrolls were stacked in front of shelves damaged nearly beyond repair, pages hanging loose and torn and bindings asunder. It was as though Morgana had something truly personal against Gaius and all that he cared about, and had made it a mission to destroy it all to make him suffer even more.

Gaius himself was asleep on his cot, tucked neatly under one of Gwen’s blankets and eyelids fluttering as though in dream or nightmare. He was pale and frail but alive, and Arthur was grateful for at least that.

He stepped carefully around the remaining debris to the short set of steps that led to Merlin’s own little hovel, certain he would find him there – close enough to Gaius to care for him if needed, but far enough away to both give him peace and to deal with other matters.

Sure enough, he was present, surrounded by the detritus of his life. His own cupboard was on its side, the carefully penned images of herbs torn from the walls, bed overturned and few pieces of crockery smashed beyond recognition. Merlin was not fussing with any of that though. The crockery had been swept aside, blankets roughly folded, and a small section of the floor cleared. It was there that Merlin sat, a broken bit of wood in his hands.

Arthur faintly recognized it, though he could not place when it first appeared – perhaps around the time of Morgana’s first disappearance and during the Great Dragon’s attack, likely a reward from one of his fellow servants for both being present and surviving the experience. It was carved from simple birch and bore the image of a dragon, or at least did at one point in its life. Now it lay in pieces with a wing torn off and ear chipped and one of its legs hanging at a precarious angle. 

Merlin was holding the pieces, long fingers running over every tiny carved line, shaping and willing it to be whole, though even Arthur was doubtful that would ever be possible. He could requisition another one to be made, but knew it would not be the same. Whatever this little bauble was, it had held meaning to Merlin. With all the mass destruction around him, somehow it was this tiny, seemingly worthless little thing that threatened to make him break.

Arthur cleared his throat, not certain if he disliked disrupting whatever reverie Merlin had fallen into, or if he hoped to startle him from his fugue. “You are needed in the counsel chambers. The few that are remaining are fighting over what needs to be done and I would like you to begin making lists so that we can sort it all out,” he told him, careful to keep his voice calm and filled with authority. It usually worked with others, even if it rarely did with Merlin, but hopefully the need to help others would win out even if Arthur’s own imperiousness did not.

Merlin turned around, pieces still in hand and eyes red from obvious tears. “But, Gaius…” he started, but trailed off as if uncertain how to finish.

“I will send someone to tend to him in your absence, and others to rebuild his rooms,” Arthur promised.

“He needs rest,” Merlin said, words not much more than a sniff. “There’s a broth I have been giving him, as well as a tea that is helping him sleep.”

“I will see that whoever watches him is aware of this, and that the men sent to repair the room understand the need to remain as silent as possible.” Arthur looked to him and saw that he was torn, that he wanted to stay and help his mentor and do it all himself, even as he saw it would likely send Merlin deeper into his own thoughts to do so, and that the other man needed a distraction of some sort if he was going to be remotely bearable to be around in the near future. “He is not going to do much more than sleep for the time being, and you are needed elsewhere,” he said, not unkindly.

Merlin nodded, and sniffed again, before he placed the pieces of wood neatly upon one of his torn blankets and stood. “Counsel chambers?” he verified. He wiped a less than pristine sleeve across his face, leaving a smudge of dirt behind.

“Yes,” Arthur said, quietly wondering what his supposed great advisors would think of a bedraggled servant doing what they themselves had been unable to sort out on their own. It did not matter, not really. Merlin simply had to state that the king sent him and they would be forced to fall in line or risk poor appearance at a time he knew they all wanted to curry favour.

Merlin nodded once more and left. Arthur caught him spare a glance and a slight twitch of blankets about Gaius’ shoulders before neatly laying out the broth and tea for whoever was to take his place.

Arthur stood there and watched, even though he knew there were a thousand other things of far higher importance that he needed to do. When Merlin finally stopped fussing and left, Arthur swept up the little wooden pieces and tucked them into a pouch at his side. His people were broken and his castle was broken but, more importantly, his friend was broken. There was only so much that he could have repaired, and this was more definitely something he could see to himself.

Which is how, hours later when the candles burned brightly and the sun had long since set, Arthur walked Merlin back from the counsel chambers, rolls of scrolls tucked under his arm whilst Merlin rambled on tiredly about priorities and how some people had a seriously skewed sense of them.

They entered the room and Merlin paused, clearly surprised at how much had been accomplished in his absence. The glass was swept away and neat rows of new bottles stood at the ready on the table in the centre of the room. New shelves were installed and the books were placed upon them; likely in the incorrect order, but at least priceless tomes were off the floor for the time being. Gwaine and Elyan and Gwen were fussing over the arrangement of stools and chairs and the room was filled with the smell of herbs laid out next to a newly repaired press just waiting to be used.

Gauis slept on, but the trio of friends turned at their arrival and welcomed them with fresh biscuits and tea that sent wafts of fragrant steam into the air around them. They stepped aside as Merlin took in the sheer amount of effort and care that had gone into repairing so many things in such a short amount of time.

Arthur pretended to roll his eyes and smiled and nodded in the direction of Merlin’s own little room. He knew for himself that it had been similarly repaired with the cupboard righted and the bed sorted, though the drawings had yet to be returned to their places on the walls. Most importantly though, was the meaningless and meaningful bauble placed ever so gently on the little stand against the wall.

He had followed Merlin up the steps and leaned against the doorway, knowing the exact moment that his friend had laid eyes upon it. The little dragon was held ever so carefully in his cupped hands and he turned to look at Arthur in both accusation and wonder. 

Arthur shrugged as if it were nothing, as if he had not hidden away in his chambers for over an hour with the smell of tar and the tacky paste he had stolen from Geoffrey’s stores. He eyed his work now and took in the way he could just make out the seams from this distance, the way the left wing hung at just a slightly skewed angle and the leg was no longer perfectly straight and the nick in the ear was never going to be aptly replaced. It was far from perfect but, then again, so was Merlin, so he thought it was a well-made match.

“Thank you,” Merlin said, instantly knowing who was to blame for the act. His voice was breathy and just a bit shaky and Arthur really hoped he did not cry again because he was far too tired to deal with that and he may have possibly had said as much as the next word out of Merlin’s mouth was a simple, “Prat.” He was smiling though, wide and true and in a way Arthur had not thought to never see again.

He did not tell him that he was welcome, just as he did not tell him that he knew Merlin did so much more for him than dress him or change his sheets or deal with the counsel when Arthur himself did not want to or drag him out of burning castle to save his life. Instead, he quirked his own lips in return and tilted his head just a fraction; not quite a nod of acknowledgement, but not quite not.

“Gwen made tea, and you know how rude it is to keep her waiting,” he said, perhaps a little bit deeper and a little bit more tinged with the emotions he was barely keeping under control himself. He remembered now the oh so many times of walking in on Merlin in the mornings or late at night and seeing him finger the delicate wings, or even simply stare at the piece as though lost in thought. He remembered how the conversation inevitably turned to families or fathers or, on one rare occasion the fallen Dragonlord Balinor of all things, over the ensuing days. And he remembered how Merlin had made an active choice to leave everything behind to bring his king to safety and then later fight at his side, and had asked for nothing in return.

Merlin set the broken yet whole dragon back on the stand and walked over to join Arthur and the others for a spot of tea amongst the remaining wreckage. Arthur ruffled his hair when he passed simply because he could, and was swatted in return for his efforts, his noble knights laughing rather than jumping to his defence. And when he sat down at the table, friends noble and true at his side, he could not help but think about the future.

 

End.


End file.
